


A Place For Us

by samwysesr



Category: MCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Consanguinamory, F/M, Twincest, maxicest, scarletsilver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 23:57:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7129910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwysesr/pseuds/samwysesr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how hard they try, the twins just don't feel at home living at the Avenger's compound; deep down, what they both want is a little place that is all their own, like the one they lost when Novi Grad was destroyed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place For Us

Requested by: Anon on tumblr who wanted "Fluffy Maximoff Twins/Barton Family feels"

Inspired by [[ t h i s ](http://chovihanni.tumblr.com/post/131653353848/a-place-for-us)]

W/C  13,678

Unedited/Unproofed

* * *

 

Pietro and I are very appreciative of being accepted by the team, but at the same time… it can be very… _tiring_ ; it is a very different thing, living in a place where there are so many people co-existing and sharing the same space. For the others, I think perhaps it is easier—they have homes or places of their own they can escape to when the hustle and bustle of the compound get to be too much, but Pietro and I… we don’t have that luxury. The compound is the only place we have since Novi Grad was destroyed—the little home we’d made for ourselves there is long gone, along with everything we owned except for the few meager possessions we had on our persons when we joined the Avengers fight. All that remains of our past life are the clothes we had on our backs and the pieces of jewelry Pietro had given me, along with the one tiny picture of our family that we’d managed to find in the rubble our old apartment so many years ago.

Everything we need is provided for us—but that’s not the same thing as having personal belongings. I missed the tiny keepsakes we’d scavenged over a lifetime, each holding a special memory. I’d decorated our cottage with them, surrounding us with the many tiny tokens of love my brother had given me. Those things could never be replaced, though I knew Pietro would try his best to replicate each and every one of them; what truly bothered me was the fact that when he did… we still wouldn’t have a place of our _own_   to put them. I didn’t want a fancy suite in the compound, no matter how nice it might be—I wanted a place that was just _ours_ … a haven for two, where we could retreat and escape from the world. Pietro… he wanted it too—I could feel his longing as deeply as my own.

Slowly but surely, we began spending more and more time _outside_ , away from the others; when we weren’t needed or in training, we wandered, roaming the vast countryside around the compound the way we used to roam the streets of our city—searching for any kind of empty, abandoned house that we could make our own. I think, perhaps it was a purely subconscious gesture on both our parts—we never discussed the purpose of our outings, we simply instinctively sought out the thing we needed most. Unfortunately, it continued to elude us—there was nothing to be found except for miles and miles of stupid trees.

By complete chance, we happened to remain within the boundaries of the compound one evening—we’d never fully searched the grounds, assuming every building there would already be in use. Mentally and physically exhausted after an extremely long training session with Sam, we’d decided to unwind by taking a stroll through the trees—our spotting a small wooden structure nestled deep within the woodlands on the farthest edge of the property was a complete surprise to both of us.

The sun was almost gone when we stumbled across it—a run-down cabin, its porch almost obscured by a tangle of overgrown vines. Immediately, we both froze, staring in wide eyed disbelief.

“Do you see this?” Pietro asked—his voice was a hushed whisper, but in the still quiet of the wooded glade, it seemed far too loud.

“I do… do you think anyone is inside?”

“Only one way to find out—wait here.”

“No Pietro—” My protest came too late—he sped off, leaving me alone in the growing darkness. I leaned against the nearest tree, huffing in irritation, but before I could muster a full on sulk, he circled back, swooping me up and I was suddenly in flight. Closing my eyes, I nestled me head against his neck until I felt him slow down.

“Look Wanda! Open your eyes!”

As my feet hit the ground, I complied with his demand—expecting to find myself deposited by a window, but I was wrong. We were _inside_   the cabin. “Pietro! We don’t know—”

“Whoever lived here has been gone a long time—look how dirty and dusty everything is.”

My eyes darted around the room, trying to take everything in; it was large and open, bisected on one end by a long counter that sectioned off the small kitchen. “I wonder who lived here?”

“A groundskeeper or something, probably. Come on—look at the bedroom!” He tugged my hand impatiently, leading me through an open archway into a short hallway that had four closed doors—throwing open the first one and gently nudging me inside.

“Oh! It is lovely, isn’t it?” The back wall had a bowed window with a bench that ran its length; it overlooked a small clearing behind the cabin—so large that it made it seem like we were still outside.

“There is a bathroom too—with an old timey tub. The kind with monster feet, Wanda!” His voice was full of excitement as he tugged me back out into the hall, opening the door directly across from the bedroom. “And look! It works!”

I bit my lips, trying to hide my amusement at how enthusiastic he was as he turned on the taps. “That is definitely a good thing… but we do not know—”

“Wait! I saved the best for last!” He grabbed my hand, tugging me towards the farthest door down—throwing it open and ushering me inside with a flourished gesture.

It was another bedroom—about half the size of the first—with a smaller version of the bowed window and enchanting window seat I’d admired in the larger room. Before I could stop myself I pictured the bench filled with stuffed animals and the walls a soft, calming color that would be soothing for a child; I did not need to read Pietro’s mind to know he was thinking the exact same thing—the gentle squeeze of his hand around mine expressed his thoughts.

“It is perfect… for the future, yes? When we have a family again.”

I ducked my head down, hiding my face as my cheeks warmed with heat; it was something I longed for, but I’d almost written it off as a hopeless, unreachable dream. I’d thought we’d never have the money to get the kind of test we’d need done, but now? We could easily gain access to the best geneticists in the field. We’d be able to provide a safe, comfortable home for a child—something we couldn’t do when we were living hand to mouth in Novi Grad.

He chuckled, his long, strong fingers brushing back my hair before sliding under my chin—tipping my face up so his lips could claim mine as his thoughts echoed through my head. _“It will be our hideout—we will fix it up yes? You will make us a lovely home, like you did with the cottage.”_

I nibbled at his lips, wondering if we dared be so presumptuous.  _“Don’t you think we should ask permission first? They might have plans for this place, my brother. I would hate to get attached to it, only to find out they—”_

He groaned, resting his forehead against mine. “Don’t you remember what we saw on the television? Possession is nine tenths of the law—if we claim it and invest time in it… it is ours.”

“I don’t think that is actually a real thing, Pietro… is it?”

“If not, it should be,” he grumbled.

“But—”

“If you want to ask, we will ask—but if they say no it is entirely _your_ fault,” he huffed, scooping me up and kicking into hyperdrive before I could respond.

When he skid to a stop in the lounge, I almost groaned out loud; had it been up to me, we would have gone directly to Stark—his guilty conscious means he’s prone to saying yes whenever we make a request. Unfortunately, he was nowhere in sight—our primary ‘handlers’ were the only ones in the room. I suppose my twin was trying to honor the chain of command while still managing to immediately satisfying my need to ask for permission—so he did not stop to consider the fact that Rogers and Romanov were likely to balk at the idea of us living on our own. We were still ‘training’—which meant they would want us under their thumb and close at hand.

“Thereisacabininthewoodscanwehaveit?” Pietro spewed out—so excited that he forgot that he needed to slow down.

Steve blinked, his forehead furrowing up as he tried to puzzle out the mishmash sound. “Try it again son—slower this time.”

Pietro rolled his eyes, heaving a dramatic sigh. “There is an old cabin in the woods. We want to move into it.”

“Cabin? What cab—”

“The old caretaker’s quarters,” Natasha cut him off, sliding her feet off the coffee table to the floor—eyeing us the whole time.

“So? We can have it, yes?” Pietro’s impatience brushed against me—I slid my fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, trying to calm him down.

“I don’t see why not—” Steve began, only to be cut off by the woman beside him.

“No.”

Steve frowned. “Why no—”

“Demolition has already been scheduled,” she replied, fiddling with her phone. “Tony is putting in a garage.”

“There is already a huge garage! Why can’t he use that?” Pietro scowled ferociously. “We _need_   that cabi—”

“This discussion is _over._ ” She glanced up at him, her face completely void of expression.

I bristled—angry at her for having the audacity to treat my brother like an unruly child. For a moment, I contemplated snapping at her, but a split second later a much better retaliation sprang to life in my brain. It is never a good idea to anger someone who has seen your fears and knows exactly how to trigger them—titling my head, I began to softly whistle the opening overture to Glazunov’s ‘The Seasons’.

Her reaction was instantaneous—all the color drained from her face. Rogers reached over, gently touching her shoulder—her jaw tensed as she struggled to overcome the memories flickering through her head.

“Wanda—”

“Hmmm?” I stopped whistling, giving him an innocent look.

“Don’t even try—”

“What? I was only whistling—is that not allowed all of a sudden?”

“I suppose it’s just a coincidence it happens to be Russian ballet music?” He shot me a warning look as he massaged her shoulder.

“Steve—I’m fine. “ She shook his hand off, her eyes locking with mine—her calm, even tone completely at odds with the spark of anger in her gaze. “Don’t you get tired of being carried around like a toddler?”

“Not at all,” I shot back, nestling my head in the curve of Pietro’s neck. “There is nothing quite like being held in the arms of someone who loves you.” It was a low blow, perhaps, given that Banner had ended their fling abruptly and without warning—but nothing less than she deserved for being rude to my twin.

“You’re behaving very childishly, Wanda— you’re better than that.” Steve’s reprimand was gentle, but it still stung; he was a good man—I didn’t like disappointing him.

“Thanks to Stark my childhood was cut drastically short—perhaps I am trying to regain some of what was stolen from me by acting up,” I said. “His actions have robbed us of a home _twice_   in our lives—hearing he is building a home for his _cars_ when we have none… it brings out the worst in me.”

“She is unused to being around other people for long stretches… it makes her uncomfortable. Grouchy,” Pietro offered. “It is why we need a place to ourselves—”

“If that’s the case then maybe the two of you need to take some time off. Get away for a few days.”

“That is what we are _trying_   to do that,” Pietro huffed. “Find a place to _escape_   to.”

“We have nowhere to go,” I pointed out. “We do not have the same freedom you do when it comes to getting away from this place. We have no little apartment or house or—”

“You have an open invitation to the farm and you know it,” Romanov said, tossing down her phone. “Clint would be more than happy to have you—”

“A house with five other people living in it!” I snapped. “It is _their_   home, not _ours.”_

“That’s not my problem. You have two options—you can stay here and suck it up… or go there and take a break from everyone,” she shot back.

Pietro was in motion before I could respond.

We _went._

In truth, the Widow was right; we were always welcome at the Barton farm, but we were hesitant to visit it as often as we’d like for fear of taking advantage of their kindness and wearing out that welcome. We lacked the proper social skills to deal with such things, so we’d opted to space out our visits in the past, only staying a single night before returning to the compound. Barton had a family to support and raise—it wasn’t his obligation or responsibility to look after us too.

I think perhaps Clint sensed this hesitance—he pretends to be aloof and standoffish, but he is a much more intelligent man than people realize, and he is extremely observant as well. And when his mind is made up about something? He won’t take no for an answer; he puts that intelligence to use, concentrating on figuring out a way to work things in his favor—which is exactly what he did when we showed up at his door, huffing and prickly over the incident with Romanov and Rogers.

Immediately, he sat us down, demanding to know what was wrong; while Pietro filled him in, I focused on the cozy room around us, trying to ignore the envious aching of my heart for a home of our own.

“I think Steve is right—you both need a break.” Clint offered as soon as Pietro stopped talking. “You went from being alone to being thrust into a living arrangement you’re not accustomed to.”

“We’re not used to this either,” I said, gesturing around me, “so how is it supposed to satisfy our needs? If we want to find a place of our own, we can—we’re not prisoners!”

“It’s not that simple, Wanda. You’re displaced citizens of a foreign country—”

“A country that Stark’s creation destroyed,” I snapped. “If it weren’t for that we’d still have our home!”

“As I was saying,” he continued, ignoring my outburst completely, “one of the conditions to your staying was that you’d reside on the compound and—”

“We wanted to do just that—but in a place of our own. That is needed more than another stupid garage,” Pietro growled.

Barton sighed, slumping back in his chair. “If the two of you aren’t going to let me finish a sentence I might as well go to bed. I’m not the enemy, kids—I happen to _agree_ with you”

Pietro and I exchanged a glance—our guilt at lashing out and taking our frustrations out on him ebbed and flowed between us like the tide. “We apologize, Clint… it’s just—”

He rolled his eyes, holding up his hand to cut me off. “I get it—you want… sorry, _need_ … a place of your own. Look, I’ll call Steve in the morning and tell him I need your help around here for a while—that’ll give everyone a chance to cool off while we figure out what to do.”

“We cannot impose—Laura has enough to do without worrying about guests,” I protested softly, playing with Pietro’s fingers.

“You’re not _guests_ ,  Wanda—you’re family. Besides… I’m putting you both to work.” He smirked, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I promised Laura I’d stick around until I caught up on some of the repairs that need doing, but I got word earlier that they need me for a special mission that no one else can do. Pietro… you’re going to fill in for me here while I’m gone and Wanda—you’re going to help Laura with her spring cleaning.”

“You think she will accept this?” Pietro asked, looking skeptical. “Perhaps she wants her husband here more than she wants things fixed—did you consider this?”

“You leave Laura to me, kid—she’ll understand.”

“Understand what?” The sound of Laura’s sleepy voice pulled my head around to the doorway—she was leaning against the wall, watching the three of us with an amused expression on her face.

“The kids are going to help out here while I’m away—Pietro seems to think you’ll be upset with the arrangement.”

She made a face, pushing away from the wall—moving to perch on the arm of her husband’s chair. “Why would I be upset? You’ll get the work done ten times faster than Clint could.”

“Hey!”

“Hush—it’s the truth and you know it.” She smiled fondly at him, ruffling his hair before returning her attention to my brother and me. “Are you two hungry? I can reheat—”

“No ma’am—more tired than anything else,” I said quickly, not wanting her to go to any trouble; if we were going to be there for a few days, it was better to start off on the right foot, proving we would not be a burden. “It has been a very long day.”

“Why are you keeping them up talking when they’re tired? Go on up to bed, honey—you know where your room is.” She swatted Clint’s arm, scowling playfully. “I changed the sheets yesterday, and there are clean towels in the bathroom.”

“Thank you very much,” I shot her a grateful smile as I stood, tugging Pietro to his feet. “We appreciate your letting us stay—I am sorry we showed up unannounced.”

“You’re always welcome here Wanda—I hope you know that.” She bit her lip, her eyes flicking between us, looking almost hesitant. “Just remember to secure the door—as soon as Lila finds out the two of you are here, she’s bound to hunt you down.”

My face heated at the reminder—I ducked my head down, hiding my flushed cheeks behind my hair. On our first visit, neither Clint or Laura had bothered to mention that all of the locks in the house had been intentionally disabled—thanks to Cooper accidentally locking himself in the bathroom when he was small; we’d turned the lock before we’d retired, assuming it had worked—only to find out the next morning how wrong we were. Our very first morning on the farm had begun in a very uncomfortable fashion when Barton had thrown open the door, calling out, ‘rise and shine… time for breakfast’—not stopping to consider that we might not be decent. Since we made a habit of sleeping skin to skin and the night had been hot enough that we’d kicked off the blankets… it was an embarrassing incident for all of us, to say the least.

“I will push the dresser to block it, do not worry.” Pietro grinned at her, tugging me impatiently towards the stairs.  “Come on, there is a soft bed waiting with our name on it, yes?”

The soft sound of their laughter at his exuberance drifted after us, making my face flame even hotter—for once, I moved faster than my brother, bolting up the stairs to the sanctuary of ‘our’ room where he could soothe away my embarrassment with kisses and caresses in privacy.

BARTON WAS GONE WHEN WE awoke the next morning, but he’d taken the time to leave a hastily scrawled note taped to the bedroom door. True to his word, he’d spoken with Steve—we’d been given a month of leave to ‘adjust’ to our new life. The thought of having time to behave in a normal fashion pleased me immensely—from the moment we’d arrived in America, our days had been filled with endless training; I understood the importance of preparing us for the things we would face as Avengers, of course, but that did not mean I did not long for the chance for us to just be Wanda and Pietro again, if only for a few days time. I think that perhaps the public does not stop to think that each of us is more than just a member of the team—beneath the shadow of the Avengers, we are people, with dreams and needs and desires of our own that we often must set aside in lieu of helping others. From a logical standpoint, I knew that it would get easier as more time passed and we mastered our skills, but unfortunately, that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel did not make the present any easier; the bottom line was that the Avengers had taken over our life with training and briefings and testing, barely leaving us time to breath, much less to actually have a private life outside of the team. Compared to all that… well…  a month at the farm was a little slice of Heaven, no matter how many chores we had to do.

Another note waited for us downstairs in the kitchen—this one written in Laura’s precise, even script—instructing us to eat a big breakfast before tackling the ‘to do list’ she’d attached; as I moved about the kitchen whipping up a batch of Olad’yi for the two of us, Pietro glanced over the items on the list—immediately announcing they were mostly things that _I_   could not do.

I made a face at him, pouring the batter in the skillet. “Don’t be ridiculous—I can be very handy, you know.”

“Yes but you are a _lady_ —things like mending fences and patching the roof… they are _man_ work.”

“I can hammer a nail just as easily as you, Pietro Maximoff!”

“Whether you can or can’t does not matter, because you are not going to be doing it,” he shot back, setting the list aside and stretching like a cat.

“I have to pull my weight too,” I protested, pointing at him with the spatula. “Don’t be bossy.”

“Me? Bossy?” He scoffed, arching a brow. “I think perhaps you are confusing us, sweet sister— _you_ are the bossy one, not me.”

I scowled, flipping the pancakes. “You know, it would be a shame if I were to eat every single bit of this myself, leaving none for you—”

“Don’t be like that—I am only teasing,” he cajoled, flashing me an angelic smile. “Anyway, I didn’t say you could not _help_   me—you can do the things like handing me tools and holding the ladder, yes? You will be my beautiful assistant.”

“I can do more than just that—I am able bodied,” I huffed, loading up a plate and taking it to him.

“I know this very well,” he teased, reaching around to squeeze my rear.

“Behave—or no seconds!” I swatted his hand away, retreating to grab the jam from the refrigerator—setting it down beside him before returning to the stove to start another batch.

He didn’t start eating right away, which surprised me—instead he watched me with a wistful smile on his face. “Someday… we will have a place like this, Pietra—I promise.”

“I know,” I said, shrugging. “I am just impatient. I want it all now—a home… children of our own. For all our dreams to finally come true.”

“Perhaps we could find a place near here. It’s not like I couldn’t get us back to the compound in a hurry if they called us—”

“You heard what Clint said—we _have_   to live there… we have no choice.”

“We do,” he said softly, toying with his fork. “We don’t have to stay in the states, you know—we could go back to Europe. Track down Simza’s shàtra and see if they would accept us… or we could try to find Mama and Papa’s distant kin—”

“How many people might suffer if we did that, Pietro? How many might _die_   if the team needs our skills to save them and we aren’t there? You know the rules… we _have_   to help when we can—to do any less would be to dishonor the first of us. And besides… I know you _want_   to be an Avenger. Yes?”

“Not if it makes you miserable,” he mumbled, staring down at his plate. His turbulent emotions brushed against me, betraying how torn he felt over the issue. “You being happy is more important to me than anything else.”

“As long as we are together, I am happy,” I said, filling a plate and moving to join him at the table. “And if in time I find that being a member of the team is too much for me to bear… I swear on Mama and Papa’s souls I will tell you, alright? Now eat before your food gets cold— _we_   have a lot of chores to do today, remember?”

He eyed me for a moment, then flashed a challenging smile—before I could return it, he blurred before my eyes, his thoughts disappearing into the buzzing white noise that accompanied his speed.

“Pietro Django Maximoff! Don’t you dare—”

He was gone before I could get the words out—taking the to do list with him—leaving me staring at an empty plate and an overturned chair.

“Of all the sneaky, underhanded _rudeness_!” I huffed under my breath. Using his speed to get his way was completely unacceptable—I fought back the urge to rush off after him, chasing him until he slowed down enough for me to give him a piece of my mind. Attempting to ignore the prickly irritation I felt at his tricksy behavior, I ate my breakfast _alone_ , grumbling to myself all the while. Normally, I would find his old fashioned ideals a sweet and rather charming quality, but I did not appreciate his use of subversive tactics to gain the upper hand—and I intended to make my displeasure known.

By the time I cleaned up our mess and set out to find him, almost an hour had passed; though I searched all over the farm, he remained elusive—mentally, I could feel the buzz of his thoughts, but physically he kept himself out of sight and out of reach. I was on the verge of throwing a hissy fit of epic proportions—screaming at the top of my lungs until he appeared—when Laura’s van came around the bend, pulling to a stop beside me; as the window slid down, I actually contemplated the notion of tattling, but in the end, I refrained, not wanting to be disloyal to my twin.

“Hey! What are you doing all the way out here? Where’s—”

“Working on things too fast for me to keep up.” It wasn’t _entirely_   a lie—I was just glad there was enough truth in my statement to keep me from feeling guilty.

She laughed, jerking her head toward the passenger seat. “Good—maybe he’ll actually get all the things Clint has been dawdling over for months done. Hop in—it’s a long walk back to the house, and I need your help in the kitchen. The PTA is having a bake sale this weekend and I volunteered to make cupcakes.”

“I really prefer that to doing repairs,” I admitted, hurrying around to climb in, “But please don’t tell my brother I said that.”

“I actually didn’t mean for you to work around the farm” she said, putting the van in gear. “I thought I would be back before you finished breakfast—that’s why I didn’t make a separate list for you. I assumed Pietro would finish eating faster and want to get started... and I’m sure you already know all the work involved with spring cleaning.”

I slumped down in the seat, trying not to frown—Pietro would be certain to crow about Laura agreeing with him regarding the division of labor. “I think he will never let me live this down.”

“Hmmm?” She shot me a quizzical glance in response to my mumbling.

“It is nothing… just sibling bickering.”

“You know… it’s funny, but for some reason I assumed your being… _involved_  sort of negated that. The normal brother and sister thing, I mean.”

I knew she did not mean it as offensively as it sounded, but still, I bristled at her comment; I tried to hide my irritation away, but unfortunately, the tension in my demeanor betrayed me.

“Wanda… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t—I just don’t like that word… ‘ _normal’._   It implies that you think there is something abnormal or wrong with the fact we are in love.” I did not mean it to sound so sharp, but still, it came out barbed and brittle. I turned my head, gazing out the window as my cheeks heated with indignant anger. “It amazes me how hard it is for people to grasp the simplest things. Pietro did not cease to be my twin when we fell in love—it just strengthened the natural sibling affection that was already in place between us.”

“Forgive me for saying this… but that’s not exactly a simple thing to understand—”

“Did you stop being your parent’s daughter when you became a wife? Stop being a wife when you became a mother?” I asked softly, glancing over at her. “Did finding a new form of love wipe away the others?”

“Of course not—”

“Because one title does not annul another or diminish the existing feelings—it simply adds another dimension to who you are. It is the same for us, Laura. By birth, I am Pietro’s twin sister… nothing can change that. It does not affect the deep romantic love we share or our need for one another—that is an entirely different thing. It layers itself atop our sibling love, merging with it and strengthening it—our souls are tied together, and the soul does not care about bloodlines or age or gender.  For me… that is the easiest thing in the world to understand—the thing that puzzles me is the fact that society cannot see and appreciate the true purity of this double love bond.”

She didn’t respond at first—all her concentration seemed focused on pulling into the garage and shutting off the engine. It wasn’t until I sighed softly and moved to open the door that she reached out, gently touching my arm.

“I may not understand everything… but I _do_   understand how much you love each other, Wanda… and I think it is a really beautiful thing.”

I returned her gaze for a moment, then flashed a hesitant smile. “Then that is all that matters in the end.”

WE SPENT THE REST OF THE day in the kitchen, preparing so many sweets that every available surface was covered in trays of cupcakes cooling or waiting to be frosted. The combination of Laura’s good natured disposition and the wonderful scent filling the air stirred bittersweet memories of my mother and the time I’d spent with her in our apartments tiny kitchen. There is an odd sort of comfort that comes from baking that is hard to describe; I think perhaps it stirs the centuries of genetic sensory memories that are lodged deep within a person’s DNA, bringing to mind the security of a warm hearth and safe home.  It soothed away the worst of my irritation at Pietro for his vanishing act—by the time he appeared in the kitchen, flashing me an apologetic grin, I did not chastise him the way I’d planned, though I did gently reproach him for leaving me all alone to eat.

That first day set out a pattern that remained for the duration of our visit. My days were spent helping Laura around the house and with the children, while Pietro performed the much needed maintenance around the farm; I think perhaps that our time there was a learning experience for all of us—it gave my brother and I a chance to see what it was like being part of a family again, and it gave the Barton’s a chance to better understand the vast difference between their culture and ours. It was amusing, listening to Cooper and Lila trying to pronounce the few simple words of Rromanès and Sokovian that we taught them—Pietro laughed for a good five minutes when the little girl accidentally mixed up her words, calling him a goat by mistake.

By the time our stay was over, they all understood the basic concepts that were such a fundamental part of our lives—Laura stopped asking why I insisted on washing Coopers clothes separately from hers and Lila’s, and she even went so far as to buy new dinnerware just for Pietro and me  to use after I almost had a heart attack when Cooper let the dog eat table scraps right off his plate. The fact she questioned such actions and was truly interested in the answers touched me deeply—I suppose because… in a way, it showed that she cared about Pietro and me enough to _want_   to understand. None of our teammates had inquired about such things—they simply chalked my insistence on doing our laundry and cooking our meals up to my being ‘weird’, never stopping to consider that it was to avoid magerdipè—pollution; they did not know or care about the importance of maintaining vuzhò—cleanliness in body _and_   spirit. I did not hold a grudge about their disinterest, however, I will admit that deep down… it hurt quite a bit; we were supposed to trust these people with our lives, yet they did not seem interested in learning anything about us other than what we could _do._ Laura was the exact opposite—our abilities didn’t seem to matter one bit; what she cared about was asking and learning about _our lives_ , and that in and of itself made me feel more comfortable in her presence than I felt with anyone on the team.

As those early days turned into weeks, the house slowly went from messy and disorganized to spick and span; mattresses were aired out and flipped—the linens stored away and sweetened with the aromatic herbs I’d gathered from Laura’s garden. We scrubbed every single window spotless— and polished the floors until the wood gleamed; I even organized the cabinets in the kitchen and the children’s toys in their rooms.  I was in my element, helping her with her house, discovering that at heart, she and I are two of a kind when it comes to the most important things—our truest desires are the domestic kind, involving nesting and nourishing the ones we love.

With the spring cleaning done and Pietro still adamant about handling ‘his’ chores on his own, I found myself with empty hours and absolutely nothing at all to fill them; to stave off boredom, I began accompanying Laura when she ventured out on errands—helping her with the shopping and keeping her company as she chauffeured the children back and forth between school and their extracurricular activities.  During that time, the dynamic between us slowly began to shift; I realized that she was far more than just my teammates wife—she was an individual with hopes and aspirations of her own that were completely separate from the life she’d built with Clint. In that moment, I realized that in my own way… I had been as self-absorbed as my teammates had been when it came to getting to know Pietro and me. Immediately, I sought to make it right—and the more I learned… the more I liked her. I hadn’t known that before Cooper’s birth she had been a nurse—a career she’d loved, but given up in the interest of raising a family—or that she was passionate about renovation and design—completely understanding my deep desire to have a home of my own; during the span of that trip into town, I gained something that I’d never had before—a female friend who shared my likes and interest.

That realization… it changed everything; instead of looking for things to keep myself busy, I began spending hours sitting on the couch with her, leafing through the magazines and catalogues she’d collected—discussing different ways she could redecorate her home. She asked my opinion about even the smallest of things, marking pages with yellow sticky notes on which she jotted down the colors I’d suggested. I enjoyed myself far more than I should have—it was almost like regressing into childhood and all the hours I’d spent daydreaming about decorating a home for Pietro and me. On other days, she would dig through her closet, pulling out things she hadn’t worn in years, insisting I try them on, or sit me down on a stool in her bathroom, trying out different styles with my long hair—making suggestions about different kinds of makeup and products for my skin. Every night when I crawled into bed, I talked poor Pietro’s ears off, rambling on and on about the things we’d done throughout the day until he silenced me with kisses and tender caresses,  driving everything except his nearness completely out of my mind.

My incessant chatter wasn’t unintentional—deep down, I had an ulterior motive for my over sharing; as much as I enjoyed Laura’s company, I missed spending all my time with my twin. I will readily admit it was a tiny bit evil of me, but you see… I know Pietro better than anyone—and I know what buttons to push to get an instantaneous reaction. My excited oversharing might seem simplistic and innocent, but I knew that it would make him stop and think about one very important thing; our whole entire lives… he’d been my only true friend— but now, for the first time ever, I was enjoying spending time with someone other than him.

Slowly but surely, the jealous, possessive streak within him began to stir—I think perhaps that is what prompted him to finally relent and ask for my help; he didn’t want me spending time inside with my new friend, he wanted me _outside, with him_ … which coincidentally was exactly where I _wanted_   to be.

“Pietra… tomorrow… I think I will need your help,” he murmured, nuzzling the side of my face.

“Oh?” I rolled over, propping myself up, giving him my best surprised face. “I thought you said it was ‘man’s work’?”

“Mhmmm… well, most of it is… but I will be working up on the roof and the ladder is very old and rickety. You don’t want me falling off and breaking something, do you?” He reached up, pushing my hair out of my face. “Besides… I have missed you.”

“I have missed you too. Very much.”

“You haven’t at all. You have been having too much fun to even think of me,” he huffed.

“No matter what I am doing you are _always_ on my mind,” I collapsed on top of him, earning an ‘oof’ in response.

“Not when you are playing dress up.”

“Oh yes—I imagine how you would react to each outfit… whether or not you will like them.” I combed my fingers through his hair, smiling when his fingers moved up to do the same to mine. “And I think about how much more enjoyable it would be if you were there _with_  me.”

“You promise?”

“Of course—you know I cannot lie to you.” I nestled my head under his chin, heaving a dramatic sigh. “It is really quite ridiculous the lengths I have to go to in order to make you see things my way. If you had just let me help you right from the beginning, we could have spent all our time _together_ , the way we are supposed to.”

“We still have almost a full week—”

“That does not make up for all the wasted time when I could have been watching you do your chores,” I huffed. “You know how worked up I get seeing you do manual labor, Pietro Maximoff.”

Letting out a playful growl, he rolled us—pinning my hands above my head as he settled his lithely muscled body between my legs. “Worked up, huh? _How_   worked up?”

“Mhmmm… about as worked up as you get when I do this…” I teased, rocking my hips up against him.

His groan of pleasure was muffled by the press of my lips as they claimed his; I shifted, sliding my legs up over his hips—a clear invitation that I knew he could not refuse.

It is really quite irritating that the entire Barton family appears to have incredibly bad timing.

“Wanda?”

The high pitched lilt of Lila’s voice accompanied by the sound of the door bumping against the dresser we’d used to block it jerked us both apart; Pietro blurred, reappearing with a pair of sweatpants on beside our impromptu barricade—his thoughts echoing through my mind. _“Get dressed—I will stall her.”_

“Wanda? Open up! You promised me a story—”

“Give her a moment, piko chirikli—she is getting dressed for bed,” he called out as I pulled on the oversized nightshirt Laura had loaned me, covering it with a borrowed robe. I nodded—he shoved the dresser aside, pulling open the door. “Perhaps we could both tell you a story, yes? I will do the girl parts and Wanda can do the boys—”

“That’s silly—you’re the boy.” Lila giggled happily, reaching for his hand.

“I am? Hmmm… are you sure about this?”

“If she is not… I certainly am,” I murmured in Sokovian, slipping past him to take her other hand. “What shall it be tonight? Young Vasilisa the brave and the fearsome dragon? Or perhaps the Fool and the Fish?”

“No—I want to hear the story Pietro told Coop!” She tugged us towards her room, flashing me an impish grin.

“Oh?” I arched a brow, glancing over at my brother. “What story is this?”

“The one about a kind old man who opened his heart and home to two little street rats,” he said softly, “teaching the importance of helping others at all times.”

I ducked my head down to hide the wetness that automatically gathered in my eyes. “That is a very good tale indeed.”

Pietro’s thoughts flickered through my head, as gentle as a caress. _“He did not want to help his sister with her homework… I thought it might convince him to change his mind.”_

I inclined my head just enough to show silent support for his decision; according to Laura, Cooper was at that difficult age where he tended to treat his younger sister as more of a pest and less of a friend—it was something we’d never experienced personally, so I found the entire notion quite perplexing.

“Does it end in happily ever after?” Lila asked, pulling away from us to climb into her bed.

“No… it does not,” I answered, settling myself down on the edge of the bed. “You see, the story has not ended for the little street rats—it is still going on.”

“But it has to end that way! All the best stories do!” She protested, her eyes flicking between us.

“It will someday, piko chirikli…” Pietro’s eyes caught mine as he dragged her desk chair over beside the bed; his words were meant for her, but the sentiment behind them was solely for me. “I swear it before the Most High—the little rats will gain everything they have ever dreamed about one day.”

 

LAURA’S EYES WERE SPARKLING with amusement when we stumbled down the stairs bleary eyed the next morning; it wasn’t hard to guess what she found so funny—her daughter’s very vocal demands for ‘just one more story’ had echoed down the hall. Lila had kept us up telling tales until both of our throats were sore and raw and our voices were raspy.

“I bet I know one thing the two of you miss about the compound,” she quipped, setting a platter of French toast on the table.

“The lack of small, demanding people?” Pietro muttered hoarsely, rubbing his eyes.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a bedroom door with a working lock.”

“It is entirely his fault for moving the dresser in the first place—we should have pretended we were asleep.” I shot my brother a pointed look as he loaded up his plate.

He made a face at me, reaching for the jam. “You _promised_   her, Wanda—”

“ _One_   story, Pietro—not _seven.”_

“It is good practice for when we have little ones of our own,” he argued.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that—the kids love you. You’ll be wonderful parents—you’re naturals.” Chuckling at the bright smile Pietro flashed, Laura reached for her coffee. “Speaking of children, I was thinking that today we might—”

“Wanda is busy today,” Pietro said quickly. “I will need her help.”

“You do?” She looked confused by his outburst. “I thought you didn’t want her to—”

“All I have left to do is fixing the shingles—she will steady the ladder and pass me things.”

Her mouth dropped open—she stared at him for a moment, not speaking. “You’ve done everything else on that list?”

“Yes… I would have been finished much sooner, but I tried to pace myself.”

“You… paced yourself.” Her lips twitched—a moment later, she started laughing.

“That is a bad thing?” Pietro shot me a worried look, setting his fork down. “I am sorry… I didn’t mean to waste time—”

“Don’t you dare apologize—I’ve been trying to get Clint to finish those repairs for almost two years.” She smiled, reaching over to touch the back of his hand. “Thank you for finally getting it all done.”

Pietro’s embarrassment at her gratitude was obvious by the pink flush that washed across his cheekbones. “It was the least I could do. You have been very hospitable and accepting towards us… and you are a good friend to my sister.”

“Your friend too, I hope—” her voice trailed off as the phone started ringing—her smile brightening even more when she glanced down at the display. “It’s Clint—”

“We will give you some privacy then, yes?” I glanced over at Pietro, jerking my head towards the back door. “We can get an early start on things.”

He opened his mouth to protest—his eyes darting to the platter of French toast, but my mind reached out to his before he could voice his objections. _“If you get the roof done early, we could perhaps explore the hayloft… finish what was interrupted last night….”_

He blinked; a moment later I was in his arms, the door slamming behind us as he rushed out of the kitchen towards the toolshed. When it comes to my brother and his appetites… positive motivation is _always_  a very good thing—however, to his consternation, I was adamant about thing; there are some endeavors in which the wisest option is to take things slow and steady—like the tortoise and the hare in Aesop’s fable, swiftness does not always mean winning the prize at the end of the race. Unfortunately for both of us, despite the bright promise of what awaited us once Pietro was done with his labors, my sense of caution for his safety overrode my physical needs. Though Pietro assured me that he would be perfectly safe using his speed on the roof of the farmhouse, I preferred to err on the side of caution—it was far better to delay our tryst for an hour or two than to have him break a bone… or worse. Though he huffed irritably at my logic—and the fact I used my power to keep him away from the toolshed door—he swore an oath to comply with my wishes in the matter, working at a normal speed.

In hindsight, I should have known then and there that he would find a way to pay me back for my tricksy bargaining skills—really, the only surprise is that he managed to have the patience to wait two full hours before striking back in a way that was sure to torment me the most.

“It is very warm today, isn’t it?” He called down from the top of the ladder—it came out an almost indecipherable mumble, thanks to the nails he was holding between his lips.

“It is…” I arched a brow, peering up at him. “Do you need me to fetch you some water?”

“No… I was simply making an observation,” he shifted abruptly, making the ladder sway—I tightened my grip, afraid he would fall.

“Pietro! Be careful—” I sputtered as his sweaty shirt landed on my face. “Hey!”

“Sorry—I am very hot and sweaty up here. I need to cool off.”

I shook my head to dislodge the shirt. “So you throw it in my…” The complaint died on my lips as my eyes locked on his bare back—in that moment, I completely forgot what I’d been saying. He hadn’t been lying—perspiration glistened on his skin; even as I stared up at him, a droplet trailed down the indention of his spine, disappearing beneath the waistband of the sweatpants that rode low on his hips. It was far, _far_   too easy for me to picture the rest of its journey, traveling along the muscular swell of his ass; I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling more than a little overheated myself.

_“What’s the matter Wanda? Cat got your tongue?”_ Barely concealed amusement laced his thoughts.

I tore my eyes away from his body, forcing them up to his face; he was _smirking_   at me. “Ohhhh… you think you are very clever, don’t you?”

“Yes, but that is neither here nor there, sweet sister.” He shimmied up onto the roof, stretching out on his back. “I think perhaps I need a break… this is very exerting work.”

“You know, I could do the same thing, Pietro Maximoff!” It came out practically a shout. “What do you think of that?”

“Do what? Stretch out for a nap?” He asked, with feigned innocence.

“Yes, but only _after_   taking off half of my clothes!”

_That_   got his attention; he sat up abruptly, narrowing his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“It is only fair…”  I stepped back from the ladder, hooking my fingers in the hem of my top—slowly inching it up to bare my stomach.

“Wanda! You stop that! Someone might see you!”

He sounded so scandalized that I couldn’t resist tugging it up a bit more, flashing my bra clad breasts at him. “What is good for the gander is equally as good for the goose—”

“Keep that up and he might lose his balance and fall off the roof, Wanda.”

At the sound of Laura’s teasing voice, my cheeks heated; yanking my shirt back down, I stared at the ground, too embarrassed to look her way. “He started it.”

“I can see that.” She stepped up beside me, letting out a long, low whistle. “You are a very lucky girl, Wanda Maximoff.”

“I know this…” I shot a scowl up at my brother, raising my voice, “… except perhaps when he is teasing me. Then I do not feel so lucky.”

“You most certainly do—you enjoy our games,” Pietro retorted, reaching for the hammer and tacks he’d abandoned.

“None of that—it’s quitting time,” Laura announced in a cheerful voice, bouncing on the balls of her feet; I eyed her suspiciously from behind my hair, wondering why she looked so excited.

“Don’t be ridiculous—it’s not even noon yet.  I will finish this and then—”

“Sorry, they need you back at the compound for some kind of meeting. Clint sent an email and asked me to print it out for you.” She pulled a folded up slip of paper from the canvas tote on her arm, holding it out. “It’s a map of where you need to meet up with him.”

“This is not fair—they said we had a whole month off and it has only been three weeks!” The ladder shook as Pietro remounted it—I darted forward, leaning against it to stabilize it before it could fall.

“Perhaps they intend to let us use the time we have left after this meeting,” I soothed, reaching out to snag the paper from her hand—though I waited until Pietro reached the ground before unfolding it. His confusion brushed against me, mirroring mine as he peered over my shoulder—it was a map of the compound, but the big dot that indicated where we were supposed to go was in an area that was nowhere near the main building. “Are you sure he wants us to—”

“That’s what he said.” She shrugged the tote bag off of her shoulder, passing it over to me. “Protien bars and bottled water for the trip.”

Immediately Pietro reached in and grabbed one, ripping into it; I rolled my eyes as he crammed the whole thing in his mouth—he practically swallowed it without taking time to chew. “Pietro! Slow down before you choke—”

“I am hungry! You didn’t let me finish breakfast, remember?”

I was about to point out that his plate was already practically clean _before_   Clint called, but Laura’s throaty chuckle stopped me before I could get the words out. “I take back what I said before… now I can see it.”

“See what?” Pietro’s eyes flicked between us.

“She thought we did not act like siblings,” I said, trying not to sound smug. “I told her we most certainly did.”

“Of course we do… why wouldn’t we?” He asked, looking confused.

“It doesn’t matter—I understand now.” Stooping down to snag his shirt, she tossed it to him. “You better head out, Clint said time was of the essence and—”

The rest of her sentence was lost in a rush of wind as Pietro scooped me up and took off at top speed; closing my eyes, I focused on my thoughts to fight off the dizzying sensation of moving faster than the eye could see. A few minutes passed—he slowed enough that the static in his head faded and I could feel his thoughts; as I dug in the tote bag for another protein bar, my mind reached out, brushing his—gently chastising him for his actions. _“That was rude, my brother… we did not say goodbye or even thank her for the hospitality.”_

_“He needs us there—goodbyes are very slow things. They take up far too much time.”_

Unwrapping the bar, I held it up to his lips—it was a well choreographed dance that we’d slowly mastered over time, enabling him to keep on the move without having to stop and put me down. Three bites and it was gone; I closed my eyes as he took off again, nuzzling his neck to make up for the temporary separation of or minds.

Even with us having to slow down once more, we made it to the compound in a mere fraction of the time it would have taken had we driven or even flown; he paused at the gate to check the map we’d been given, his brow wrinkling up as I held it out for him to see. “I don’t understand this—there is nothing back there but trees.”

“Maybe there is no meeting. He could be planning to ambush us,” I suggested. “You know, testing us to make sure we paid attention to the defense techniques they’ve been teaching us or something.”

“He better not be—not after all the manual labor I’ve been doing for him.” He scowled, waiting for me to put the map away before racing towards the designated spot.

The sense of uneasy confusion we were feeling only increased when he skid to a stop amidst the trees; the forest was completely silent—there was no one in sight.

“What is this… some kind of game?” He huffed, gently lowering me to my feet.

My eyes flicked around, searching for our teammates—my mind extending, searching for their thoughts. There was no one out there—however, my eyes came to rest on a bright white sheet of paper that stood out against all the brown and green of the woods that surrounded us. “Look—over there. Perhaps he had to leave and—”

Pietro sped over before I finished the sentence, ripping the paper off of the tree it was tacked to. “It is another map—this is ridiculous!”

“Testing our map reading skills, maybe?”

He scowled down at the paper. “A waste of time—I have an excellent sense of direction. They don’t _need_   to test it.”

“I know this but—”

“But nothing—they are wasting our time,” he growled, scooping me up and heading for the parking facility.

From there we were directed to the building that housed the generators—then to the training room after that. By the time we reached the helipad on the roof, Pietro’s temper snapped.

“This is too much,” he huffed, balling up the paper and tossing it. “Now we are supposed to go to where the cabin used to be—it is like they are rubbing it in our face that they stole it out from under us! I think we will head back to the farm and refuse to be treated in such a manner, yes?”

“We might as well see it through to the end.” He sputtered at the very thought—my fingertips danced along the fine hairs at the nape of his neck in an attempt to soothe him. “It will be very satisfying to give them a piece of our minds about this when we find them, yes?”

“For you perhaps—for me it would be far more satisfying to picture them waiting for us all night long, only to have us not show,” he grumbled, tossing me over his shoulder and heading for the stairs.

“If I were to promise you that if there is another map waiting for us, we will go straight to the hayloft… would this improve your grouchy mood?” I murmured, reaching down to gently caress the tempting mound of his ass.

“Do not tease me when I am feeling sour, Wanda—”

“Who’s teasing? It was a legitimate offer. Of course if you aren’t interested in accepting it—ouch!” I let out a shriek as his palm cracked across my bottom.

“Behave,” he said sternly, his hand slipping under the hem of my skirt to caress away the sting of his swat.

“I was behaving!” I huffed. “I have every right to touch your behind!”

“You do, but it is distracting me.”

“That was the entire _point,_ Pietro.”

“Distractions later—not when I am carrying you down steep stairs.” One of his wicked, nimble fingers slipped beneath the elastic of my panties, brushing against me before quickly retreating.

“Now who is being a tease,” I muttered, closing my eyes as I felt his muscles coiling beneath me—an unspoken warning sign indicating he was about to run. Sure enough, the wind tangled my hair, stealing away my groan as soon as it left my lips; it is one thing to travel right side up when Pietro runs—another thing entirely to be upside down when the queasiness hits.

A few seconds later, he stumbled, almost dropping me; I swallowed hard—afraid for a moment that I might lose my meager breakfast all over the magnificent backside I’d been admiring. “Pietro! You know being upside down makes me feel sick—”

“Pinch me.”

“Huh? I squirmed, glancing over my shoulder.

“I am imaging things—unless you see the same thing I do?”

“I don’t see anything but the ground!”

“Oh! Sorry!” A moment later, I was on my feet, wobbling unsteadily as he turned me around. “Look Wanda… do you see it?”

Suddenly, I understood why he’d stopped so short. “Yes… I do.”

“So… am I imagining it… or does it look nicer?”

“No… it does.” The overgrowth of greenery that had collapsed the roof was gone—it had been repaired and re-shingled; the porch itself looked different too—the boards weren’t unevenly slanted anymore, and they’d been stained a deep rich brown. “This makes no sense, Pietro—why would they fix it up only to tear it down? That is a waste of time and money—”

A lightbulb clicked on in my head, immediately rousing my anger; before I could stop myself, I let out a string of curses so vile that they left my brother open mouthed with shock. “Wanda! You should not talk like that—”

“ _She_  wanted it for herself!” I shouted. “That is why they sent us away Pietro—to give her time to fix it up and claim it!”

He blinked, looking confused. “What? Who—”

“Romanov! She probably wants it for a love nest to bring her conquests to! When we needed it for a real _home!”_ I burst into tears, burying my face in his chest—emotionally shattered by the unjustness of the situation.

“I think you are wrong, sister,” he soothed, wrapping his arms around me. “Steve would not do that to us… and neither would Clint—”

“Of course he would! He is her best friend Pietro! They have history—we are just a couple of strays he took in out of pity!” I snapped.

“But she has an apartment she can use for that—”

“Then why would they do this? Give me another reason that makes sense, brother! Steve knew nothing about the supposed demolition and he knows _everything_   that goes on here!” I tilted my head back, blinking away my tears.

He frowned, swiping the wetness from my cheeks. “I don’t know… maybe it is a test—to see how we react. They place great importance on our controlling our emotions… not giving in to our anger.”

“You think they would go to this much trouble for that? Just to tear it down?”

“I do—they aren’t exactly thrifty, Wanda. Besides, all they had to do was have one of the auxiliary staff pull down the vines and paint a few boards—it’s not as if they built the place from scratch. They simply tidied it up a bit.” He smoothed back my hair, resting his forehead against mine. “Think about it—they had to know how we’d react to this. You don’t want to give them the satisfaction of being right.”

I narrowed my eyes, not at all liking the fact that they thought they could outsmart us—and more than a little irritated at myself for not immediately considering such a subterfuge. “You are right.”

“Of course I am,” he said smugly. “There is something on the door—I bet it is another map, leading us to wherever they are. Wait here—”

“No! It could be an ambush, remember?” I hissed, wrapping my arms around him so he could not speed off and leave me behind. “You said it yourself—they know how you think… what if they are trying to get us to split up?”

“I am too fast for that to be effective.” He frowned; I didn’t need to look inside his head to know he was weighing the likelihood of Clint holding me hostage—it was a frequent enough occurrence in training, supposedly teaching me to rely on my close quarter combat skills as opposed to using my powers. “Fine… hang on.”

No sooner had the words left his lips then we were at the door; by the time I blinked, we were back in the shelter of the tree line and he was eyeing the envelope suspiciously. “Do you think it is a trick?”

I shrugged, unwinding my arms from around his neck as I slid out of his arms. “If it were a package… maybe—but not a tiny little envelope. I seriously doubt he’d resort to using something like anthrax in a training lesson. Give it to me—”

“Why do you get to open it—”

“You do the running—I do the reading.” I snatched it out of his hand, tearing into it—giggling as he swatted my rear.

“You are very lucky I love you even when you are being a bratty little sister, Wanda.”

“Twelve minutes don’t count and you know it,” I retorted automatically, my eyes flicking across the messy handwriting of the note inside the envelope. “We are supposed to go inside… straight to the basement. I don’t remember a basement—”

“Mhmmm… I didn’t take you down because there were spider webs everywhere,” he murmured, nuzzling the side of my head.

I shivered at the thought. “If he thinks I am going into some arachnid infested place he is clearly insane.”

“I will go down—you can wait out here,” he offered, kissing the tip of my nose.

“No—divide and conquer, remember?” I sighed, pulling away from him. “I will stand at the top of the stairs—that way if I sense one of them coming I can run down after you.”

“That is a very wise idea.” He shot me a proud look, scooping me up off my feet—speeding into the cabin and setting me down in the hall beside the only door we had not opened during our first visit. “I will be right back—stay alert.”

“I don’t like this sneaky stuff one little bit.”

“Me neither—hopefully soon they will realize we are more capable than they seem to think.” He kissed my cheek, vanishing into the darkness below—a moment later, a light appeared, chasing back the blackness, bathing the staircase with its dim glow.

I leaned against the wall, extending my mind—immediately tensing as I sensed the presence of three people. “Pietro—”

He was beside me in a flash, tugging me down the stairs. “The spiders are gone—there is something you need to see!”

“Clint and Natasha  and Steve—”

“That can wait! Look!” His hands closed around my head, turning my face towards the large open area beneath us—it was full of boxes and large obscure shapes draped with sheets.

Immediately, I bristled. “I was right! She is planning on moving in!”

“No, sister… _look!”_ He snatched up an envelope that was taped to one of the boxes—our names were scrawled across the front.

Frowning, I tore into it—staring down at the note for a moment, completely at a loss.

“Well? What does it say?” He tapped his foot impatiently.

“Everyone needs a place of their own… welcome home,” I said slowly, glancing up at him. “I don’t understand, Pietro… what does this mean?”

“Only one way to find out.” He tore into the box the note had been taped to, frowning as he pulled out a sheet of paper. “It is a printed out email to Clint… but it is addressed to you—and the box is full of… sheets and towels and things. You know… linens?”

I reached over, my hand trembling a little as I took it from him—my eyes flicking over the page.

 

_Wanda,_

_I’m pretty sure I remembered everything, but if something isn’t right just let me know and we’ll exchange it._

_Love,_

_Laura and Clint_

 

“It is from Laura—” I began, only to be cut off by his excited shout.

“Wanda! All these boxes are addressed to _you!_ ”

“They can’t be!” I protested, my eyes following him as he darted around the room, tugging away the sheets to expose different pieces of furniture. “What is—”

There was a low chuckle from the top of the stairs. “I thought you were supposed to be super smart, sunshine.”

I turned my head, watching Clint warily as he descended carefully, trying to navigate the stairs—a difficult task considering his line of sight was blocked by the large wrapped bundle in his hands. “I am smart… but none of this makes any sense!”

“Maybe this will clear things up,” he held out the large, rectangular object, flashing me a smile.

Pietro hesitantly took it, his eyes flicking between our teammate and me. “Wanda?”

Chewing at the corner of my lip, I reached over, tearing off the brown paper—tears filling my eyes as I processed what lay hidden underneath. A large, burnished frame held the photograph of our family—only it had been enlarged and restored to look brand new. A soft sob escaped me—I ducked my head down, hiding my face as my treacherous tears slid free.

“Wanda? What—” Pietro’s voice trailed off; I peeked through my hair, watching him as he stared down at the picture—there was a telltale glisten of wetness in his beautiful eyes. “This is very beautiful… thank you.”

“I can’t believe neither of you saw this coming—I figured Wanda would lift it from Laura’s mind.”

The amused sound of Romanov’s voice drew both of our heads towards the staircase—she was watching us from the shadows, with Rogers at her side.

“See what coming?” Pietro leaned the framed picture against the boxes, automatically shifting to position himself between our teammates and me.

“Relax—we’re not going to jump you.” Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall. “I’m too damned tired to even think about sparring right now.”

_“Is it safe?”_  Pietro’s question echoed through my head. The Widow’s reflexes were like a cat, and she was as fast as an adder—neither of us was foolish enough to simply take her at what she said.

I stretched out my mind, gently probing her thoughts—a gasp of surprise escaped me at what I found. “Do you mean this? Really?”

Barton frowned, his eyes flicking between us. “Wanda—”

“I’m sorry! I just had to be sure it wasn’t a trick!” My cheeks heated at the reprimand in his tone—slipping into the minds of my teammates without their knowledge was something I wasn’t supposed to do.

“You don’t trust me at all, do you?” Romanov’s face betrayed nothing, but there was just a hint of hurt in her voice.

A wave of guilt washed over me, making it hard to breathe. “I—”

“Don’t sweat it—”

“No… I owe you an apology. When we saw what had been done to the outside… I assumed you had lied to us so you could take it for yourself.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Why in the hell would I want—”

“For a place to sneak away to.” My face heated even more as I fought against the urge to glance over at Steve. “You know… for… um… private meetings and things.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

Clint snorted. “Let it go, Nat—trust me. If you don’t you’ll regret it.”

Pietro huffed. “Will someone please—”

My mind brushed his—sharing what I’d glimpsed in the Widow’s head. _“This place… she thought it was not suitable for anyone to be living in. They have been working round the clock to make it nice—that is why they sent us away, Pietro. The note said ‘welcome home’ because that is what this is—they were fixing it up… for us, my brother.”_

His stunned amazement flowed across the bond between us, mirroring my own feelings. “It was ours all along?”

“From the minute you asked for it—Natasha filled me in on her plan as soon as you left the room.” Steve smiled, turning to head back up the stairs. “By the way, we don’t get all the credit—Tony did his part too.”

“By paying for everything,” I guessed—unable to picture him doing any of the actual manual labor.

“It’s what he does best,” Clint winked—reaching for a box. “Come on, let’s get this stuff upstairs and start unpacking—”

“No!” It slipped out before I could stop myself; immediately, I winced, trying to ignore the surprised look on his face. “It… uh… can wait—you have already done far too much for us.”

“It’s no trouble… really—”

“What my sister means is a very different thing than what she says,” Pietro offered, flashing me a teasing grin. “She is very controlling about some things… especially with regards to the place where we will live.”

“I am not! You take that back Pietro Maximoff!”

“I see… so when we lived in Novi Grad and I put something back in a different place than where it came from, you did not immediately jump up and rush to move it?”

“Everything has a certain spot,” I muttered, blushing furiously. “It is how a home stays organized and  well run.”

“And when I tried to help you with the cleaning and you followed after me, redoing the work?”

I pretended to study my shoes, avoiding his gaze. “I did not _always_   do that—only when you missed a spot or were rushing through it… not being thorough.”

“Just so we’re clear… you’re saying that if we unpack and help put all this away—” Romanov gestured around the basement, “—she’ll end up redoing it?”

Pietro nodded. “Precisely. Our Mama was the same way… of course, when Mama got anxious, there were no side effects. With Wanda…  her abilities make these things unpredictable.”

The implication in his voice was enough to make up Romanov’s mind; she turned, heading up the stairs. “Come on Clint—leave them to it.”

Barton looked torn; it wasn’t in his nature to avoid pitching in when his friends needed assistance. “At least let me help move the furniture upstairs—”

“I can handle it.” Pietro clapped him on the back—guiding him towards the stairs. “You should go home—check over the work I did, yes? Make sure I made no mistakes.”

As he ushered them out, I moved around the basement—gleefully examining all the different pieces of furniture that were scattered around the room; I understood now why Laura had been so attentive to my choices—every single thing I’d pointed out in her catalogs was there, right down to the old fashioned spindle back rocking chair I’d suggested for Nathaniel’s nursery. When Pietro reappeared, I was slowly rocking back and forth, daydreaming about the gentle movement someday lulling our child to sleep in my arms; he scooped me right out of the chair, spinning us around in a circle before setting me on my feet.

I shot him a stern look, tossing back my hair. “I think perhaps I should be very upset with you right now, my brother.”

He looked shocked at the very thought. “Me? What did I do?”

“My not wanting their help had absolutely _nothing_   to do with me being controlling and you know it, Pietro Maximoff,” I huffed.

“So I should have told them that you were wanting alone time for friskiness instead? Okay, I will set them straight. I’ll be right back—”

I grabbed his arm as he spun towards the stairs. “Don’t you dare! I mean it—”

His head ducked down, lips caressing mine—silencing my protest; I wound my arms around his neck, pressing myself against him as he walked us backward—giggling as he collapsed on the beautiful new couch, pulling me into his lap.

“Don’t be cross, sweet sister—it got rid of them without exposing the truth, yes?” He murmured against my lips, his fingertips tracing up and down my spine.

“That it did,” I agreed softly, nibbling on his lower lip. “I suppose it was a stroke of brilliance on your part.”

“Are you happy, Pietra? This place is not much, I know… someday I will give you better.” His voice was barely a whisper as he pulled back enough to gaze into my eyes; emotions lapped against me—worry blending with a feeling of worthlessness that surprised me. My mind brushed his, searching for the source—the fact he felt like a failure over such a nonsensical thing troubled me greatly; I stroked his cheek, searching my heart for the right words to say.

“I do not want a big fancy house—I never have. All I’ve ever wanted is a little place like this for our home, Pietro. You should know I do not care about these things—”

“But you _deserve_   them, Pietra—you deserve the very best.” His eyes darted away from mine as a flush raced across his cheeks. “Being at the farm… seeing all the things Clint has provided for his wife and family… it made me realize how very lacking I am when it comes to being a proper provider for you.”

“Pietro… look at me please.” I said softly, tapping his chin—waiting for him to comply. “I already have the best this world has to offer… _you._ ”

“You have to say this… you are my sister,” he grumbled, looking miserable.

“I am not speaking as your sister… I am speaking as your _wife,”_  I whispered, brushing my fingertip against the earring in his ear; his eyes darted to its twin that pierced my own earlobe. “Always you have made sure we have food in our stomachs and a roof over our heads—your body has offered me warmth and comfort on the coldest winter nights. You have given me _everything_   I could ever want… except for one little thing—and when the time is right, I know you will satisfy that desire too.”

His thumb stroked  along my lower lip gently; I tilted my head, slowly closing the distance between our mouths—only to be abruptly dumped off his lap onto the couch as he vanished from beneath me.

“Pietro! I want a kiss!” I huffed, more than a little prickly at being left hanging in such a way. “This is rudeness!”

A stack of boxes on the other side of the basement teetered, falling to the floor when he bumped them—another following suit as he sped around the room; I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes—wondering what he was up to.

“Fine then—  if you are going to be like that then I might as well just start carting things upstairs,” I said loudly, pushing myself up off of the couch. I made it halfway up the stairs before two strong arms locked around my waist, lifting me off my feet.

“Patience is a virtue, sweet Pietra—haven’t you learned this yet?” He whispered in my ear.

“A virtue neither of us possess,” I retorted, squirming. “Put me down this instant—” My demand was lost as he moved—he was faster than the speed of sound. Suddenly I was air born—letting out an ‘oof’ as I landed on my back. “Pietro! What has gotten into you?”

He smirked, collapsing beside me. “Perhaps your words made me feel nostalgically romantic, sweet sister. What better way to christen our new home than in a manner similar to the first time we joined together?”

Propping myself up on my elbows, I glanced around, slowly processing what it was that had cushioned my fall—a soft giggle fell from my lips; his whirlwind of activity had served a very definite purpose—he’d cleared a space in the midst of the boxes, laying out a mattress on the floor to create a cozy little love nook of sorts.

“Very ingenious,” I murmured, rolling over and stretching myself out along the length of his body; muscles coiled beneath his skin like steel sheathed in brushed velvet, making me tremble against him. “I take it this means you are feeling as frisky as I am?”

“Of course… but there is far more than just that.” He pushed my hair back, tucking it behind my ears—flashing the smile that never fails to make my heart skip a beat in my chest. “As you pointed out… there is one desire deep within you that I have yet to satisfy, yes?”

I nodded, tracing my finger along the rim of his lips. “Yes… but as I said—”

“In training they are very insistent that _practice_   is important in mastering any task—” he continued, as if I had not spoken, “—so I think perhaps we must apply that lesson in training to all things. That way when the time _does_   come… we will be experts in the field of baby making. We should start this practicing right away, yes?”

His logic appealed to me very much—my mind reached out, joining with his, expressing my approval as I claimed his lips; my kiss was a very thorough one—only natural, considering the fact we were about to start _training_   for one of the most important things in life. Gentle kisses turned heated; clothing fell away—then he slid inside and we were _one_ , the way we were _meant_  to be;  no mere words can describe the wonder of such moments other than to say it is the very essence of vast, limitless completeness—the rejoining our shared soul into a perfect whole.

Needless to say, by the time the day was over, we’d christened every single room of the cabin in our own special way, officially claiming it as our own; I suppose in a manner of speaking, one could say we were just following orders—after all, in the words of our trainers, repeated practice guarantees perfection—and there was no better place to become proficient baby makers than in the privacy of   _our_  new   _home._

_—WM_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
